TITLE: Submerged
GENRE: YA Suspense
Desperate to find her best friend's killer, 17 year old Mindy Palmer unwittingly trusts the murderer, an obsessed psychopath she met in the Teenspeak chat room. If Mindy doesn't uncover the murderer's identity soon, she could be his next victim.
She was dying, couldn't breathe without oxygen. All he had to do was unplug the plastic tubing and disconnect the tank while she slept, so easy it made him laugh. Year 12 Biology - learning about the needs of living organisms hadn't been a complete waste of time.
Pulling out the oxygen line woke her, and she tried to raise herself in the bed. Her head flopped about like a dried up flower on a withered stem.
With a tissue, he wiped his prints from the line. Her body sagged, her mouth opened and groveled for air. In the old wicker chair next to the bed, he leaned back, his arms folded across his chest, watching, as if he were enjoying a favorite movie.
After her lips turned blue and she stopped twitching, he reconnected the oxygen, wiping for prints again.
He wasn't sure what to do next. He hadn't planned any of it, although he'd thought about it many times.
Today, the rage had built in him as he watched her sleep...and then it was done.
He had the urge to tell someone - let the world know who he really was. He turned on the computer, logged into the TeenSpeak chat room and checked to see who else was online.
The girl was there. His mouth went dry and he ran his tongue over salty lips. His heart beat faster. She was there...waiting. Almost as if she knew he needed her - that he had never been more ready.
Miss Snark's First Victim
Showing posts with label Bakers Dozen Agent Auction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bakers Dozen Agent Auction. Show all posts
Friday, November 28, 2014
(46) YA Contemporary: THE MIND TAMER
TITLE: The Mind Tamer
GENRE: YA Contemporary
A teenage boy seeking to win back the love of his life develops telekinesis, only to discover a shadowy conspiracy of telekinetics that he alone can prevent from taking control of the world.
She walked into Biology as the bell rang but didn’t look at me.
She’d never done that before.
I closed my eyes. Rosie, I thought, look at me. But when I opened my eyes, she was talking to the girl behind her, oblivious to my mental plea.
Our teacher, Ms. Styborne, was reviewing the procedures for dissecting the frogs that had been delivered that morning.
“Matt,” she said. I looked up. “You and Pedro will pith the frogs, then distribute them to the teams.”
I nodded. We were her lab assistants, chosen because we’d do her dirty work. Our more squeamish classmates objected to certain procedures, so we had to perform them in the teacher’s lab, a small room behind the whiteboard at the front of the class.
Another glance at Rosie. She was staring at the wall, as if the Animal Kingdoms poster that had been there all year was suddenly fascinating. I scribbled a note: What’s up? I folded it, wrote a capital R on the outside, and passed it to the kid who sits next to me. It would pass through seven hands before reaching Rosie. Styborne had separated me and Rosie the first week in class. We figured Syborne, who lived alone, couldn’t stand seeing young couples in love.
Pedro and I walked toward the lab. He went through the door but I looked back. Rosie received my note but she didn’t unfold it. Instead, she wrote something on the outside and passed it back.
GENRE: YA Contemporary
A teenage boy seeking to win back the love of his life develops telekinesis, only to discover a shadowy conspiracy of telekinetics that he alone can prevent from taking control of the world.
She walked into Biology as the bell rang but didn’t look at me.
She’d never done that before.
I closed my eyes. Rosie, I thought, look at me. But when I opened my eyes, she was talking to the girl behind her, oblivious to my mental plea.
Our teacher, Ms. Styborne, was reviewing the procedures for dissecting the frogs that had been delivered that morning.
“Matt,” she said. I looked up. “You and Pedro will pith the frogs, then distribute them to the teams.”
I nodded. We were her lab assistants, chosen because we’d do her dirty work. Our more squeamish classmates objected to certain procedures, so we had to perform them in the teacher’s lab, a small room behind the whiteboard at the front of the class.
Another glance at Rosie. She was staring at the wall, as if the Animal Kingdoms poster that had been there all year was suddenly fascinating. I scribbled a note: What’s up? I folded it, wrote a capital R on the outside, and passed it to the kid who sits next to me. It would pass through seven hands before reaching Rosie. Styborne had separated me and Rosie the first week in class. We figured Syborne, who lived alone, couldn’t stand seeing young couples in love.
Pedro and I walked toward the lab. He went through the door but I looked back. Rosie received my note but she didn’t unfold it. Instead, she wrote something on the outside and passed it back.
Friday, November 29, 2013
(59) MG Contemporary: TREE ROPER
TITLE: Tree Roper
GENRE: MG Contemporary
When his dad lands in the hospital, one-eyed twelve-year-old Declan Parker’s cosmetic surgery hopes are wrecked, unless a neighbor girl and her uncle, a wounded army veteran, can help him save his dad’s tree care business.
It was the third day of summer vacation, and I was hanging in a tree. Finally. A chance to have some fun and make a little money. My first client of the summer stopped pacing as I glanced down at her tired face and messy nest of white hair.
“Please don’t walk right under me, Mrs. Murphy. It’s not safe.”
“Oh, of course. Are you sure you’re okay up there? Maybe you should come back down and I’ll try again with the food.”
“I’m good. I’ve done this lots of times. Besides, I don’t think your cat’s that hungry yet.”
“Well, I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I won’t.”
I needed to show her I could do this. I still burned from the way she stared at my face three days ago when mom introduced us. Mrs. Murphy couldn’t have known then that my right eye was a fake, though. Mom probably told her later.
As I hung on the rope above her yard, my arms throbbed. I relaxed into Dad’s old canvas and leather climbing saddle and slid my right hand down to rest on the friction hitch. Dumb move. The knot slipped and I shot down two feet of rope before I could let go. When I released it, my body jerked to a stop.
I looked down to see if Mrs. Murphy noticed. She stood quietly, staring at the street, folding and unfolding her hands. Probably praying. I know I just said a quick one.
GENRE: MG Contemporary
When his dad lands in the hospital, one-eyed twelve-year-old Declan Parker’s cosmetic surgery hopes are wrecked, unless a neighbor girl and her uncle, a wounded army veteran, can help him save his dad’s tree care business.
It was the third day of summer vacation, and I was hanging in a tree. Finally. A chance to have some fun and make a little money. My first client of the summer stopped pacing as I glanced down at her tired face and messy nest of white hair.
“Please don’t walk right under me, Mrs. Murphy. It’s not safe.”
“Oh, of course. Are you sure you’re okay up there? Maybe you should come back down and I’ll try again with the food.”
“I’m good. I’ve done this lots of times. Besides, I don’t think your cat’s that hungry yet.”
“Well, I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I won’t.”
I needed to show her I could do this. I still burned from the way she stared at my face three days ago when mom introduced us. Mrs. Murphy couldn’t have known then that my right eye was a fake, though. Mom probably told her later.
As I hung on the rope above her yard, my arms throbbed. I relaxed into Dad’s old canvas and leather climbing saddle and slid my right hand down to rest on the friction hitch. Dumb move. The knot slipped and I shot down two feet of rope before I could let go. When I released it, my body jerked to a stop.
I looked down to see if Mrs. Murphy noticed. She stood quietly, staring at the street, folding and unfolding her hands. Probably praying. I know I just said a quick one.
(58) YA/Speculative Fiction: CROWDED
TITLE: Crowded
GENRE: YA/Speculative Fiction
Having never seen a sunrise, sixteen-year-old Leo Noble breaks out of the subterranean slums beneath a futuristic, overpopulated NYC, spurring a citywide manhunt that puts every citizen under fire.
I have a name passed down so many times, it’s worn out like the shirt on my back. Ever since New York City Authority put the One Child Policy into effect twenty years ago, citizens in our underground zone passed both their first and last names down to their children. But our family has been doing this for generations. I'm Leon Noble the eighth, or maybe ninth—the number got lost somewhere in the 21st century.
The number’s not the important part. Down here in the slums, all that matters is giving your children a bit of you that says, “Hey, I was here!” My twin sister and I both carry pieces of our family’s past, as she has my mother’s name, Annabelle.
Today is our sixteenth birthday, where we’ll soon endure the last of our yearly commencement ceremonies. We should’ve left for the zone square by now, but Mother still frets to make us as presentable as possible.
She buttons a black suit jacket over my old stained t-shirt. My outfit feels much less special this year—I wear this drab top all the time. In previous years, I wore a crisp, albeit oversized, white collared shirt that buttoned all the way down under the jacket. After the ceremony last year, I bent down to pick up a couple of pennies and split the back straight in two.
“Looks like you’re getting a bit too big for this jacket,” my father says with a smirk, looking me up and down.
GENRE: YA/Speculative Fiction
Having never seen a sunrise, sixteen-year-old Leo Noble breaks out of the subterranean slums beneath a futuristic, overpopulated NYC, spurring a citywide manhunt that puts every citizen under fire.
I have a name passed down so many times, it’s worn out like the shirt on my back. Ever since New York City Authority put the One Child Policy into effect twenty years ago, citizens in our underground zone passed both their first and last names down to their children. But our family has been doing this for generations. I'm Leon Noble the eighth, or maybe ninth—the number got lost somewhere in the 21st century.
The number’s not the important part. Down here in the slums, all that matters is giving your children a bit of you that says, “Hey, I was here!” My twin sister and I both carry pieces of our family’s past, as she has my mother’s name, Annabelle.
Today is our sixteenth birthday, where we’ll soon endure the last of our yearly commencement ceremonies. We should’ve left for the zone square by now, but Mother still frets to make us as presentable as possible.
She buttons a black suit jacket over my old stained t-shirt. My outfit feels much less special this year—I wear this drab top all the time. In previous years, I wore a crisp, albeit oversized, white collared shirt that buttoned all the way down under the jacket. After the ceremony last year, I bent down to pick up a couple of pennies and split the back straight in two.
“Looks like you’re getting a bit too big for this jacket,” my father says with a smirk, looking me up and down.
(57) YA Urban Fantasy: THE DYSLEXIC SPELL READER
TITLE: The Dyslexic Spell Reader
GENRE: YA Urban Fantasy
When Aubrey’s severe dyslexia turns out to be a trait of advanced spell readers, the only person who can help is her ex-best friend and current tormentor, Seth. Since the society of spell readers sees her as a threat and constructs “accidents” to end her life, Seth says he’ll keep her alive—but can she trust him?
They’re discussing my flaws. Again.
Usually math is the one place where I’m okay.
Or, at least, I thought it was. Now at this impromptu sister-teacher conference, I’m realizing that my capacity for failure is endless and that this classroom smells like stale dry erase markers, pencil shavings, and a fresh dose of disappointment.
I don’t understand why Nala is so obsessed with finding answers. It’s an impairment. A disability. A handicap. Something that transforms me from an average girl to a “slow learner.” I try so hard and never succeed. But I’ve memorized all the spelling and decoding rules, even if I can’t ever play by them.
There are six types of syllables.
1. Closed. Short vowel sound. Examples include hag, bitch, and many other derogatory terms, such as ass, that I’m internally chanting on a repeated loop as Mrs. Manilow politely tells us I’m an idiot. Nala acts like a bobblehead doll. It’s nothing we haven’t heard before.
“Do you think this is due to her dyslexia?” Nala asks Mrs. Manilow. Seriously? What isn’t?
2. Vowel-consonant-e. The “e” at the end turns bossy and forces the first vowel into submission, twisting its arm until it screams its name. Like in “grade,” “life,” or “hate.” My “wires” (“E”: “Say your name, letter ‘I,’ or I’ll end you!”) are crossed in my head and therefore I have a boatload of problems.
“She isn’t asking for help, but that could be due to her speech and language issues,” Mrs. Manilow says as if she’s explaining something delicate and profound.
GENRE: YA Urban Fantasy
When Aubrey’s severe dyslexia turns out to be a trait of advanced spell readers, the only person who can help is her ex-best friend and current tormentor, Seth. Since the society of spell readers sees her as a threat and constructs “accidents” to end her life, Seth says he’ll keep her alive—but can she trust him?
They’re discussing my flaws. Again.
Usually math is the one place where I’m okay.
Or, at least, I thought it was. Now at this impromptu sister-teacher conference, I’m realizing that my capacity for failure is endless and that this classroom smells like stale dry erase markers, pencil shavings, and a fresh dose of disappointment.
I don’t understand why Nala is so obsessed with finding answers. It’s an impairment. A disability. A handicap. Something that transforms me from an average girl to a “slow learner.” I try so hard and never succeed. But I’ve memorized all the spelling and decoding rules, even if I can’t ever play by them.
There are six types of syllables.
1. Closed. Short vowel sound. Examples include hag, bitch, and many other derogatory terms, such as ass, that I’m internally chanting on a repeated loop as Mrs. Manilow politely tells us I’m an idiot. Nala acts like a bobblehead doll. It’s nothing we haven’t heard before.
“Do you think this is due to her dyslexia?” Nala asks Mrs. Manilow. Seriously? What isn’t?
2. Vowel-consonant-e. The “e” at the end turns bossy and forces the first vowel into submission, twisting its arm until it screams its name. Like in “grade,” “life,” or “hate.” My “wires” (“E”: “Say your name, letter ‘I,’ or I’ll end you!”) are crossed in my head and therefore I have a boatload of problems.
“She isn’t asking for help, but that could be due to her speech and language issues,” Mrs. Manilow says as if she’s explaining something delicate and profound.
(56) YA Magical Realism: THE MILLINER'S SON
TITLE: The Milliner's Son
GENRE: YA Magical Realism
Without love from his family, sixteen-year-old Theo hides himself in his music. When a series of thefts rock his Parisian neighborhood and leave the father of the girl he loves dead, Theo must step into reality. But reality isn't full of love—it's full of magic, dark magic connected to the thefts and deadly magic his parents may be using themselves.
Thursday after school, and Theophilus Chapelier, with a black leather bag slung over his shoulder, meandered through the same narrow, winding cobbled streets, humming along to a favorite tune on his iPhone. He knew by heart every chapel and convent he passed, every mansion converted into a hotel, every jewelry shop and chic boutique, every tearoom and upscale brasserie.
Parisians showed off their hats—cloche felt hats, cadet caps, berets, and fedoras. How many were made with his father’s own hands? He could guess if he wanted to, but he didn’t care to know. Not today. Maybe not ever?
A hat maker deserved respect locals would say. The craftsmanship deserved respect. However, one could easily go mad, making hats all day and night.
Under a clear sky and warm light, a pleasant breeze flirted with Theo’s dark hair. He pulled down his headphones. The main streets buzzed with locals and tourists.
Theo stopped at a local patisserie and ordered a slice of wood-fired pizza, his favorite. This was the first café his parents had taken him to for a family brunch out. He couldn’t help but wish to share a meal with his parents rather than eat alone. He wanted his parents to know how much he needed them. He let himself dream about this for a moment.
The honk of a car horn pulled him out his thoughts. As he devoured his slice of pizza in three bites, he glanced at the old man holding a newspaper in front of him. The headline read: LOCAL GOLDSMITH MURDERED.
An intense curiosity came over Theo.
GENRE: YA Magical Realism
Without love from his family, sixteen-year-old Theo hides himself in his music. When a series of thefts rock his Parisian neighborhood and leave the father of the girl he loves dead, Theo must step into reality. But reality isn't full of love—it's full of magic, dark magic connected to the thefts and deadly magic his parents may be using themselves.
Thursday after school, and Theophilus Chapelier, with a black leather bag slung over his shoulder, meandered through the same narrow, winding cobbled streets, humming along to a favorite tune on his iPhone. He knew by heart every chapel and convent he passed, every mansion converted into a hotel, every jewelry shop and chic boutique, every tearoom and upscale brasserie.
Parisians showed off their hats—cloche felt hats, cadet caps, berets, and fedoras. How many were made with his father’s own hands? He could guess if he wanted to, but he didn’t care to know. Not today. Maybe not ever?
A hat maker deserved respect locals would say. The craftsmanship deserved respect. However, one could easily go mad, making hats all day and night.
Under a clear sky and warm light, a pleasant breeze flirted with Theo’s dark hair. He pulled down his headphones. The main streets buzzed with locals and tourists.
Theo stopped at a local patisserie and ordered a slice of wood-fired pizza, his favorite. This was the first café his parents had taken him to for a family brunch out. He couldn’t help but wish to share a meal with his parents rather than eat alone. He wanted his parents to know how much he needed them. He let himself dream about this for a moment.
The honk of a car horn pulled him out his thoughts. As he devoured his slice of pizza in three bites, he glanced at the old man holding a newspaper in front of him. The headline read: LOCAL GOLDSMITH MURDERED.
An intense curiosity came over Theo.
(55) YA Contemporary: REVISING THE CATCH-UP PLAN
TITLE: Revising the Catch-Up Plan
GENRE: YA Contemporary
When her younger brother’s drug addiction escalates to violence, seventeen-year-old MacKayla is sent to live with relatives in the deep South. She’s beginning to adjust to her new life when tragedy strikes twice: a hurricane hits town and her brother, back home, disappears. Mac must choose between leaving to search for her runaway brother or staying to assist the storm-ravaged community – and family – she’s grown to love.
Five days in Alabama and I’d already discovered three undeniable truths:
1. Pale Minnesota skin was not made for Southern sun. Two minutes in direct light and I was as pink and sticky as State Fair cotton candy.
2. “Sweet Tea” would be better named “Sugary, Delicious Goodness.” How had I gone seventeen years without this amazing beverage?
3. One week and a thousand miles was not enough time or space to erase an unwelcome memory.
I pushed my legs fiercely against the front porch, propelling the old rocking chair into a creaky sway of motion as I tried, once again, to forget that night. My glass of Sugary, Delicious Goodness was sweating against my palm, forcing me to grip it tightly as I took an oversized gulp. I closed my eyes and imagined I was sitting on our deck back home, my long-anticipated summer plans still awaiting me.
The sound of a truck crunching onto the gravel driveway pulled me into the present. I was not at home. I was in po-dunk Alabama, staying with my Great Aunt and Uncle who I hadn’t seen since I was a toddler.
“Hi there, MacKayla,” Aunt Shirley called, smiling and scooting her plump body out the truck’s passenger door. Uncle Joe turned off the engine and nodded a silent greeting, the large bald strip across his head shiny as he unloaded several large bags. I scurried to help, the former Girl Scout in me unable to stand by and let a seventy-five-year-old haul groceries on his own.
GENRE: YA Contemporary
When her younger brother’s drug addiction escalates to violence, seventeen-year-old MacKayla is sent to live with relatives in the deep South. She’s beginning to adjust to her new life when tragedy strikes twice: a hurricane hits town and her brother, back home, disappears. Mac must choose between leaving to search for her runaway brother or staying to assist the storm-ravaged community – and family – she’s grown to love.
Five days in Alabama and I’d already discovered three undeniable truths:
1. Pale Minnesota skin was not made for Southern sun. Two minutes in direct light and I was as pink and sticky as State Fair cotton candy.
2. “Sweet Tea” would be better named “Sugary, Delicious Goodness.” How had I gone seventeen years without this amazing beverage?
3. One week and a thousand miles was not enough time or space to erase an unwelcome memory.
I pushed my legs fiercely against the front porch, propelling the old rocking chair into a creaky sway of motion as I tried, once again, to forget that night. My glass of Sugary, Delicious Goodness was sweating against my palm, forcing me to grip it tightly as I took an oversized gulp. I closed my eyes and imagined I was sitting on our deck back home, my long-anticipated summer plans still awaiting me.
The sound of a truck crunching onto the gravel driveway pulled me into the present. I was not at home. I was in po-dunk Alabama, staying with my Great Aunt and Uncle who I hadn’t seen since I was a toddler.
“Hi there, MacKayla,” Aunt Shirley called, smiling and scooting her plump body out the truck’s passenger door. Uncle Joe turned off the engine and nodded a silent greeting, the large bald strip across his head shiny as he unloaded several large bags. I scurried to help, the former Girl Scout in me unable to stand by and let a seventy-five-year-old haul groceries on his own.
(54) MG Contemporary : SAY MY NAME
TITLE: Say My Name
GENRE: MG Contemporary
Not being able to say his own name was 12-year-old Rory’s biggest problem, until his former friend Brent’s brain injury forces them together in the close quarters of the speech therapy room. Now Rory must deal with Brent’s unpredictable behaviors and struggle to forgive hurtful memories, or be forced to find out which is worse: being the target of bullying, or becoming one himself.
I can’t tell you my first name. It’s not that I don’t want you to know who I am. It’s just that, literally, I can’t tell you. All my life I’ve been wishing I had a nice short name with a sharp, hard sound to start it off, like Cam, or Tim. But that’s not what I got. My name is full of R’s. That’s the problem right there. R is not one of my sounds. I have more sounds now than I used to, but R is still not one of them. Figures.
My least favorite thing is meeting new people. Everybody asks, What’s your name? Then it’s all, What? What did you say? Can you repeat that? But it doesn’t matter if I repeat it, because it always comes out the same way. Wrong. Introducing myself is supreme torture and guaranteed embarrassment. Which is why I’m lying here awake, dreading the first day of sixth grade tomorrow.
Sure, there’ll be people from my old school, but we’ll be all mixed in with the four other elementary schools in town. And I know some of those kids will ask me my name. Because that’s what normal kids do.
I wish I could be normal, too. Then I could be more like my friends, who are all excited about going to a new school with fresh teachers to annoy and a whole different level of freedom. Not me. Thinking about what’s coming my way mostly makes me feel sick.
GENRE: MG Contemporary
Not being able to say his own name was 12-year-old Rory’s biggest problem, until his former friend Brent’s brain injury forces them together in the close quarters of the speech therapy room. Now Rory must deal with Brent’s unpredictable behaviors and struggle to forgive hurtful memories, or be forced to find out which is worse: being the target of bullying, or becoming one himself.
I can’t tell you my first name. It’s not that I don’t want you to know who I am. It’s just that, literally, I can’t tell you. All my life I’ve been wishing I had a nice short name with a sharp, hard sound to start it off, like Cam, or Tim. But that’s not what I got. My name is full of R’s. That’s the problem right there. R is not one of my sounds. I have more sounds now than I used to, but R is still not one of them. Figures.
My least favorite thing is meeting new people. Everybody asks, What’s your name? Then it’s all, What? What did you say? Can you repeat that? But it doesn’t matter if I repeat it, because it always comes out the same way. Wrong. Introducing myself is supreme torture and guaranteed embarrassment. Which is why I’m lying here awake, dreading the first day of sixth grade tomorrow.
Sure, there’ll be people from my old school, but we’ll be all mixed in with the four other elementary schools in town. And I know some of those kids will ask me my name. Because that’s what normal kids do.
I wish I could be normal, too. Then I could be more like my friends, who are all excited about going to a new school with fresh teachers to annoy and a whole different level of freedom. Not me. Thinking about what’s coming my way mostly makes me feel sick.
(53) MG Contemporary: CLEMENTINE
TITLE: Clementine
GENRE: Contemporary Middle Grade
Fourteen-year-old Clementine is only allowed to leave the cabin she shares with Mama and Daddy when she helps bury the bodies of Mama’s many miscarried babies. A tumor takes root in Mama’s belly and after Clementine helps place Mama next to the dead babies, she’s left alone with Daddy. Alone, until Daddy brings a new sister to live with them.
I don’t have much that is just mine.
I have a rag doll in a yellow dress that
Mama made for me when I was small.
The doll, Annie, has blue eyes and brown hair,
just like me.
Her face is smudged with dirt,
but my face is clean.
I don’t go outside much.
It isn’t safe, and Daddy gets angry.
I have a belt made from leather that
Daddy gave me when I was small.
The belt is dark brown with little flowers
carved into it.
Mama makes most of my clothes,
so the belt is something special,
but I don’t like it.
If I go outside without permission,
Daddy hits me with that belt.
I am Clementine.
The only people I know are Mama and Daddy
and some people from books.
Mama has a trunk full of books.
She calls them peace-offering books.
For every fight, every raised fist, every flowering bruise,
Daddy presents Mama with a book.
Those little paper apologies crowd her trunk,
Whispering the words that Daddy will never speak.
Sorry.
My mama’s young
Said she was about 13 when she had me; that makes her 27 or so now.
A baby having a baby,
she said.
Told me she didn’t know what to do with me.
Hadn’t ever been around any other babies.
For a long, long time, hadn’t been around anyone except Daddy,
she whispered.
Daddy is older
Tall, covered in ropy muscle
Strong, leaving bruises on mama’s face and body
Quiet, saying things only once, and you’d better listen when he talks.
Listen hard.
GENRE: Contemporary Middle Grade
Fourteen-year-old Clementine is only allowed to leave the cabin she shares with Mama and Daddy when she helps bury the bodies of Mama’s many miscarried babies. A tumor takes root in Mama’s belly and after Clementine helps place Mama next to the dead babies, she’s left alone with Daddy. Alone, until Daddy brings a new sister to live with them.
I don’t have much that is just mine.
I have a rag doll in a yellow dress that
Mama made for me when I was small.
The doll, Annie, has blue eyes and brown hair,
just like me.
Her face is smudged with dirt,
but my face is clean.
I don’t go outside much.
It isn’t safe, and Daddy gets angry.
I have a belt made from leather that
Daddy gave me when I was small.
The belt is dark brown with little flowers
carved into it.
Mama makes most of my clothes,
so the belt is something special,
but I don’t like it.
If I go outside without permission,
Daddy hits me with that belt.
I am Clementine.
The only people I know are Mama and Daddy
and some people from books.
Mama has a trunk full of books.
She calls them peace-offering books.
For every fight, every raised fist, every flowering bruise,
Daddy presents Mama with a book.
Those little paper apologies crowd her trunk,
Whispering the words that Daddy will never speak.
Sorry.
My mama’s young
Said she was about 13 when she had me; that makes her 27 or so now.
A baby having a baby,
she said.
Told me she didn’t know what to do with me.
Hadn’t ever been around any other babies.
For a long, long time, hadn’t been around anyone except Daddy,
she whispered.
Daddy is older
Tall, covered in ropy muscle
Strong, leaving bruises on mama’s face and body
Quiet, saying things only once, and you’d better listen when he talks.
Listen hard.
(52) YA Fantasy: ENERGY BENDER
TITLE: Energy Bender
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Growing up in an agrarian, intolerant village is difficult for Adelaide who doesn’t understand why she can feel and harness the emotions of others. She guards her sickness, afraid that if anyone found out she would be sent to the Cradle Grave prison camps. When a girl her age goes missing, the Elders have questions for Adelaide that probe too far into memories of her own kidnapping years ago and threaten to expose her secret.
Adelaide felt the grief before she heard the wailing. She was walking to the schoolhouse when a heaviness settled in her feet and then lodged in her chest. Every breath hurt, her limbs ached. She wondered if she was ill. Then she heard the crying. It came from inside the house she was passing, its dirt yard swept clean with a broom. Someone in that house, a woman by the sound of it, was in so much pain that her emotion radiated all the way outside to Adelaide. She stood rooted to the ground, confused and afraid of what she was feeling.
“Skunk, what are you doing?”
Adelaide cringed at the voice behind her. She turned and saw Billy Blount approaching.
“Nothing, I just…do you hear that?” A high shriek punctuated the crying.
Billy spat on the ground. “Dirty blood in that house. Best stay away ‘til they re-sanctify the place.”
“What happened?”
“Baby came in the night. Harelip. The Elders took it.”
“Took it where?”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? It was different-blooded.” Billy appraised her. “What are you, soft?”
He smiled in the hard way he reserved especially for her. Most people wouldn’t look her full in the face for so long. Adelaide covered the right side of her face with her hand.
Billy sneered. “I guess you would be soft. You’re practically different-blooded yourself, aren’t you, Skunk?”
He reached out and pulled her long braid, hard. Adelaide knocked his hand away.
Billy laughed. “Could have been you, Skunk.”
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Growing up in an agrarian, intolerant village is difficult for Adelaide who doesn’t understand why she can feel and harness the emotions of others. She guards her sickness, afraid that if anyone found out she would be sent to the Cradle Grave prison camps. When a girl her age goes missing, the Elders have questions for Adelaide that probe too far into memories of her own kidnapping years ago and threaten to expose her secret.
Adelaide felt the grief before she heard the wailing. She was walking to the schoolhouse when a heaviness settled in her feet and then lodged in her chest. Every breath hurt, her limbs ached. She wondered if she was ill. Then she heard the crying. It came from inside the house she was passing, its dirt yard swept clean with a broom. Someone in that house, a woman by the sound of it, was in so much pain that her emotion radiated all the way outside to Adelaide. She stood rooted to the ground, confused and afraid of what she was feeling.
“Skunk, what are you doing?”
Adelaide cringed at the voice behind her. She turned and saw Billy Blount approaching.
“Nothing, I just…do you hear that?” A high shriek punctuated the crying.
Billy spat on the ground. “Dirty blood in that house. Best stay away ‘til they re-sanctify the place.”
“What happened?”
“Baby came in the night. Harelip. The Elders took it.”
“Took it where?”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? It was different-blooded.” Billy appraised her. “What are you, soft?”
He smiled in the hard way he reserved especially for her. Most people wouldn’t look her full in the face for so long. Adelaide covered the right side of her face with her hand.
Billy sneered. “I guess you would be soft. You’re practically different-blooded yourself, aren’t you, Skunk?”
He reached out and pulled her long braid, hard. Adelaide knocked his hand away.
Billy laughed. “Could have been you, Skunk.”
(51) YA Fantasy: HEART OF SPARKS
TITLE: Heart of Sparks
GENRE: YA Fantasy
A duty-driven princess hiding a forbidden magical gift must decide between the crown and her heart when she falls in love with the defiant, horse-training sister of the prince she's supposed to marry.
The door of my carriage clicked open, and a gust of hot summer air beckoned me to meet my future husband. I took as deep a breath as the bodice of my dress would allow and stepped down onto pale flagstones leading up to the gatehouse of a castle. As my shoes touched the ground, I silently scolded my heart. It ignored me, hammering in nervous double time against my ribs even though my life since the age of six had been a constant rehearsal for this moment.
Colorful banners hung from the battlements of the gatehouse, alternating the plum of my homeland with the deep blue of Mynaria. Behind the gatehouse the rest of the castle loomed, a massive structure crowned with square towers that jutted up into the blue sky overhead. Though the building was grand, and massive, it looked naked to me without the twisting spires that crowned the castle where I had grown up.
A line of horses adorned in full barding awaited me in front of the entryway, their polished armor glinting in the afternoon sun. Even from several paces back I could tell that their necks arched well above my head. A breeze fluttered the dark blue embroidered silk that hung from their reins. Though I’d read about the warhorses of Mynaria, such massive creatures were beyond my imagination. The carriage horses seemed diminutive by comparison, and they had frightened me badly enough when I’d first seen them at the foothills of the northern mountains I called home.
GENRE: YA Fantasy
A duty-driven princess hiding a forbidden magical gift must decide between the crown and her heart when she falls in love with the defiant, horse-training sister of the prince she's supposed to marry.
The door of my carriage clicked open, and a gust of hot summer air beckoned me to meet my future husband. I took as deep a breath as the bodice of my dress would allow and stepped down onto pale flagstones leading up to the gatehouse of a castle. As my shoes touched the ground, I silently scolded my heart. It ignored me, hammering in nervous double time against my ribs even though my life since the age of six had been a constant rehearsal for this moment.
Colorful banners hung from the battlements of the gatehouse, alternating the plum of my homeland with the deep blue of Mynaria. Behind the gatehouse the rest of the castle loomed, a massive structure crowned with square towers that jutted up into the blue sky overhead. Though the building was grand, and massive, it looked naked to me without the twisting spires that crowned the castle where I had grown up.
A line of horses adorned in full barding awaited me in front of the entryway, their polished armor glinting in the afternoon sun. Even from several paces back I could tell that their necks arched well above my head. A breeze fluttered the dark blue embroidered silk that hung from their reins. Though I’d read about the warhorses of Mynaria, such massive creatures were beyond my imagination. The carriage horses seemed diminutive by comparison, and they had frightened me badly enough when I’d first seen them at the foothills of the northern mountains I called home.
(50) YA fantasy: ALL THAT REMAINS
TITLE: All That Remains
GENRE: YA fantasy
Murder is commonplace for seventeen-year-old assassin Lea Saldana, until her entire family is slaughtered in one night. When she discovers her boyfriend’s family are the traitors, there’s only one thing to do: kill them all. But when her estranged uncle—the only person who can find the traitors—is kidnapped, Lea must choose between killing her rivals, or saving all that remains of her family.
When I was seven, I told my mother I wanted to be a courtesan. I didn’t know what it meant, but courtesans owned all the beautiful things I could imagine: embroidered dresses and makeup and feathered half-masks. My oldest brother Rafeo said they spent their nights at balls and parties entertaining the nobles.
Rafeo was only trying to protect my innocence, but he simply encouraged me. I wanted their life of beauty and luxury, not one of blood and death.
Mother hadn’t been happy. My confession was more proof I wasn’t the daughter she wanted, I wasn’t the proud Saldana girl-child she deserved. After that, I stopped telling my mother what I found beautiful, like gold thread embroidery, silk dresses and feather half-masks, and instead focused on things she found beautiful: knives and poisons and masks crafted from bone.
Now, I squatted quietly on the roof of a bordello, cloak pulled around my body, bone-mask secured against my face. Below me, a man stumbled across the flagstones like a drunkard.
The man bumped into a barrel. He removed his expensive leather hat with elegant stitches and dunked his head, the rainwater darkening his silk collar. He shook his hair like a shaggy dog, the water flashing in the light of the sweet-smelling oil lanterns outside the bordello.
It wasn’t as if courtesans actually lived that life of beauty and romance. Their art and skills made everything seem pleasant and lovely, when truthfully there was darkness in their world, too. Even if it was concealed by rouge and paints.
GENRE: YA fantasy
Murder is commonplace for seventeen-year-old assassin Lea Saldana, until her entire family is slaughtered in one night. When she discovers her boyfriend’s family are the traitors, there’s only one thing to do: kill them all. But when her estranged uncle—the only person who can find the traitors—is kidnapped, Lea must choose between killing her rivals, or saving all that remains of her family.
When I was seven, I told my mother I wanted to be a courtesan. I didn’t know what it meant, but courtesans owned all the beautiful things I could imagine: embroidered dresses and makeup and feathered half-masks. My oldest brother Rafeo said they spent their nights at balls and parties entertaining the nobles.
Rafeo was only trying to protect my innocence, but he simply encouraged me. I wanted their life of beauty and luxury, not one of blood and death.
Mother hadn’t been happy. My confession was more proof I wasn’t the daughter she wanted, I wasn’t the proud Saldana girl-child she deserved. After that, I stopped telling my mother what I found beautiful, like gold thread embroidery, silk dresses and feather half-masks, and instead focused on things she found beautiful: knives and poisons and masks crafted from bone.
Now, I squatted quietly on the roof of a bordello, cloak pulled around my body, bone-mask secured against my face. Below me, a man stumbled across the flagstones like a drunkard.
The man bumped into a barrel. He removed his expensive leather hat with elegant stitches and dunked his head, the rainwater darkening his silk collar. He shook his hair like a shaggy dog, the water flashing in the light of the sweet-smelling oil lanterns outside the bordello.
It wasn’t as if courtesans actually lived that life of beauty and romance. Their art and skills made everything seem pleasant and lovely, when truthfully there was darkness in their world, too. Even if it was concealed by rouge and paints.
(49) MG adventure: THUNDERSTRUCK
TITLE: Thunderstruck
GENRE: MG adventure
Most kids get something like an iCube for their birthday. Twelve-year-old Hunter got an entire valley, a link to a tribe of ancient Thunderbirds and the daunting job of saving the world from drought. No biggie, until he comes up against what it means to have the last of anything—everyone else wants it too.
Hunter raced home as fast as his bike would take him. Normally when school let out early, he’d go explore some part of the city he hadn’t seen before. But today was Gotcha Day, and he had some serious questions for Mom and Dad.
“Hunter!” Alejandro shouted from behind. “Wait up!”
Hunter glanced over his shoulder. Alejandro pedaled hard to catch up, and Hunter slowed as he rode between the sun-baked stalls of the abandoned farmer’s market.
“What’s the rush, man?” Alejandro panted as he pulled alongside. “It’s like you can’t get home fast enough.”
“It’s Gotcha Day,” Hunter said. “Mom and Dad are waiting for me.”
“Okay, but why the hurry? I mean, it’s not like your parents are going to un-adopt you if you’re late.”
“I guess.” They couldn’t un-adopt him, but they might wish they could. Hunter was pretty sure they weren’t going to like what he had to ask.
Mom and Dad were great. Hunter had totally lucked out with them. But every time he asked about his birth parents, he got the same response: They’d wanted to keep him, but couldn’t, and Mom and Dad would tell him more when he was old enough.
He’d turned twelve two weeks ago. He was old enough now. And after what he’d found in the library today, there was no way he was waiting any longer.
The community pool flew by on their right, iron gates chained shut. They had been for as long as he could remember.
GENRE: MG adventure
Most kids get something like an iCube for their birthday. Twelve-year-old Hunter got an entire valley, a link to a tribe of ancient Thunderbirds and the daunting job of saving the world from drought. No biggie, until he comes up against what it means to have the last of anything—everyone else wants it too.
Hunter raced home as fast as his bike would take him. Normally when school let out early, he’d go explore some part of the city he hadn’t seen before. But today was Gotcha Day, and he had some serious questions for Mom and Dad.
“Hunter!” Alejandro shouted from behind. “Wait up!”
Hunter glanced over his shoulder. Alejandro pedaled hard to catch up, and Hunter slowed as he rode between the sun-baked stalls of the abandoned farmer’s market.
“What’s the rush, man?” Alejandro panted as he pulled alongside. “It’s like you can’t get home fast enough.”
“It’s Gotcha Day,” Hunter said. “Mom and Dad are waiting for me.”
“Okay, but why the hurry? I mean, it’s not like your parents are going to un-adopt you if you’re late.”
“I guess.” They couldn’t un-adopt him, but they might wish they could. Hunter was pretty sure they weren’t going to like what he had to ask.
Mom and Dad were great. Hunter had totally lucked out with them. But every time he asked about his birth parents, he got the same response: They’d wanted to keep him, but couldn’t, and Mom and Dad would tell him more when he was old enough.
He’d turned twelve two weeks ago. He was old enough now. And after what he’d found in the library today, there was no way he was waiting any longer.
The community pool flew by on their right, iron gates chained shut. They had been for as long as he could remember.
(48) YA Contemporary: BLANK CANVAS
TITLE: Blank Canvas
GENRE: YA Contemporary
A young girl growing up in a family of tattoo artists desperate for a future all her own, uses her natural artistic ability in ways that if caught, could cost her more than just her future. She could lose everything.
“I need you to take your pants off.”
His dark eyebrows shoot up and his face heats with embarrassment but he doesn't move. Wheeling my stool closer, I lower my voice to avoid attracting any attention from the other room. “If you want me to do it, you’re going to have to drop them.” His hazel eyes narrow at me in challenge. I don’t know why, it’s not like this is our first time or anything, but then I see it.
“The hearts are a nice touch,” I snort, fingering the edge of his black boxer briefs.
“Just do it,” he grumbles.
“Shh, keep your voice down,” I say while tugging his waistband down and smoothing the stencil over his hipbone with the heel of my hand. I tighten the thumb screw to make sure the tip isn’t sticking out too far and flinch. Regardless of whether it’s a straight or curved tip like the fifteen magnum I’m staring down, the sight of a needle never fails to make my stomach flip. With my foot hovering over the pedal and my hand in place, I take a deep breath and lean forward. “Okay, here —“
The rings scraping along the metal rod make a trilling sound as the purple curtain flies open behind us. We jump apart.
“Hey, have you se—omigosh, what are y’all doing!” Abby whisper shouts, her blue eyes going wide as saucers when she sees the position we’re in.
“Um, nothing,” I say as calmly as I can over the blood rushing through my ears.
GENRE: YA Contemporary
A young girl growing up in a family of tattoo artists desperate for a future all her own, uses her natural artistic ability in ways that if caught, could cost her more than just her future. She could lose everything.
“I need you to take your pants off.”
His dark eyebrows shoot up and his face heats with embarrassment but he doesn't move. Wheeling my stool closer, I lower my voice to avoid attracting any attention from the other room. “If you want me to do it, you’re going to have to drop them.” His hazel eyes narrow at me in challenge. I don’t know why, it’s not like this is our first time or anything, but then I see it.
“The hearts are a nice touch,” I snort, fingering the edge of his black boxer briefs.
“Just do it,” he grumbles.
“Shh, keep your voice down,” I say while tugging his waistband down and smoothing the stencil over his hipbone with the heel of my hand. I tighten the thumb screw to make sure the tip isn’t sticking out too far and flinch. Regardless of whether it’s a straight or curved tip like the fifteen magnum I’m staring down, the sight of a needle never fails to make my stomach flip. With my foot hovering over the pedal and my hand in place, I take a deep breath and lean forward. “Okay, here —“
The rings scraping along the metal rod make a trilling sound as the purple curtain flies open behind us. We jump apart.
“Hey, have you se—omigosh, what are y’all doing!” Abby whisper shouts, her blue eyes going wide as saucers when she sees the position we’re in.
“Um, nothing,” I say as calmly as I can over the blood rushing through my ears.
(47) MG Science Fiction: SAVAGE JUNGLE
TITLE: Savage Jungle
GENRE: Middle-grade Science Fiction
Stranded during a wildlife safari in the most lethal jungle in the universe, twelve-year-old techie Kreith struggles to escape by battling not only his insecurities, but electrocats, giant land squids, and the other treacherous creatures that prowl the jungle.
My heart rate doubles as Uncle Tonas hands me what I’ve been waiting for all day. Heck, all year— a present about the size of my fist. He always gets me the coolest gifts, like that fluorescent slug from planet Zambor last year for my eleventh birthday.
I rip the wrapping paper off the present without removing the bow, lift the lid off the cardboard box, and peer inside. A small electronic chip rests on the bottom.
“What’s—?” I ask.
“It’s a book,” Uncle Tonas says, eyes wide in his huge, muscular face. “Go on, download it.” He leans forward with those monstrous shoulders of his, a cigar between his pointer and middle finger. The total opposite of me. Sure, I’m only twelve years old, but my overly large black sweatshirt and baggy jeans hide the fact I’m as skinny as Uncle Tonas’s pinky finger.
“Uh…okay.” A book? That’s what he got me—a book? I try not to show my disappointment as I pick up the tiny chip and insert it into my Multipurpose Bracelet, my parents and Uncle Tonas looking on from the couch. I should really try to be grateful. It’s the thought that counts, after all.
“Would you like to download the book The Top 200 Most Treacherous Creatures in the Universe?” the MB asks in a voice as gruff as Uncle Tonas’s. I set the MB’s voice to that because it sounds like his and he’s the man, though I’m starting to doubt that after this sorry present…
GENRE: Middle-grade Science Fiction
Stranded during a wildlife safari in the most lethal jungle in the universe, twelve-year-old techie Kreith struggles to escape by battling not only his insecurities, but electrocats, giant land squids, and the other treacherous creatures that prowl the jungle.
My heart rate doubles as Uncle Tonas hands me what I’ve been waiting for all day. Heck, all year— a present about the size of my fist. He always gets me the coolest gifts, like that fluorescent slug from planet Zambor last year for my eleventh birthday.
I rip the wrapping paper off the present without removing the bow, lift the lid off the cardboard box, and peer inside. A small electronic chip rests on the bottom.
“What’s—?” I ask.
“It’s a book,” Uncle Tonas says, eyes wide in his huge, muscular face. “Go on, download it.” He leans forward with those monstrous shoulders of his, a cigar between his pointer and middle finger. The total opposite of me. Sure, I’m only twelve years old, but my overly large black sweatshirt and baggy jeans hide the fact I’m as skinny as Uncle Tonas’s pinky finger.
“Uh…okay.” A book? That’s what he got me—a book? I try not to show my disappointment as I pick up the tiny chip and insert it into my Multipurpose Bracelet, my parents and Uncle Tonas looking on from the couch. I should really try to be grateful. It’s the thought that counts, after all.
“Would you like to download the book The Top 200 Most Treacherous Creatures in the Universe?” the MB asks in a voice as gruff as Uncle Tonas’s. I set the MB’s voice to that because it sounds like his and he’s the man, though I’m starting to doubt that after this sorry present…
(46) YA Fantasy: THE FIDDLER KING
TITLE: The Fiddler King
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Eighteen-year-old King Lesandro and princesa Anna-Maria are destined for an arranged marriage, until assassins attack Lesandro and Anna-Maria is accused of his murder. When Lesandro turns up alive, disguised as a minstrel, the two of them must learn to trust one another as they try to outfox the new Regent’s forces and reclaim Lesandro’s throne.
Lesandro d’Orsino eyed the black knight bearing down upon him. He shifted to the left, but knew he was cornered. He was the lone white piece left on the board and there was no way he could keep his tiny black and white kingdom.
“Check and mate.” His cousin, Taddeo, spoke precisely as he nudged the black bishop forward. The light of the campfire flickered on the polished ebony. He made a disappointed sound. “When will you open your eyes and start using the board to your advantage?”
Lesandro’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t as if he were trying to lose, yet Taddeo trounced him every night since they’d left home. One hundred and three times, to be exact. Somewhere, his cousin had gotten it into his head that if Lesandro could develop tactics on the chessboard, it would translate into a talent for useful things like court intrigue and leading a kingdom. “I haven’t your gift for strategy.”
“You do when a sword is in your hand.” His cousin’s voice took on the lecturing tone that was becoming more common. “As soon as you sit down at a chessboard, you become as intelligent as a straw-headed practice dummy. Look, here.” He brought Lesandro’s attention back to the remnants of the game. “Use your queen more. She could have taken my knight four moves back, yet she only sat in her square bower, listening to gossip.”
“Exactly why I have no use for a queen. Why should I shackle myself to a girl like that?”
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Eighteen-year-old King Lesandro and princesa Anna-Maria are destined for an arranged marriage, until assassins attack Lesandro and Anna-Maria is accused of his murder. When Lesandro turns up alive, disguised as a minstrel, the two of them must learn to trust one another as they try to outfox the new Regent’s forces and reclaim Lesandro’s throne.
Lesandro d’Orsino eyed the black knight bearing down upon him. He shifted to the left, but knew he was cornered. He was the lone white piece left on the board and there was no way he could keep his tiny black and white kingdom.
“Check and mate.” His cousin, Taddeo, spoke precisely as he nudged the black bishop forward. The light of the campfire flickered on the polished ebony. He made a disappointed sound. “When will you open your eyes and start using the board to your advantage?”
Lesandro’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t as if he were trying to lose, yet Taddeo trounced him every night since they’d left home. One hundred and three times, to be exact. Somewhere, his cousin had gotten it into his head that if Lesandro could develop tactics on the chessboard, it would translate into a talent for useful things like court intrigue and leading a kingdom. “I haven’t your gift for strategy.”
“You do when a sword is in your hand.” His cousin’s voice took on the lecturing tone that was becoming more common. “As soon as you sit down at a chessboard, you become as intelligent as a straw-headed practice dummy. Look, here.” He brought Lesandro’s attention back to the remnants of the game. “Use your queen more. She could have taken my knight four moves back, yet she only sat in her square bower, listening to gossip.”
“Exactly why I have no use for a queen. Why should I shackle myself to a girl like that?”
(45) Upper MG Fantasy: SHADOWCATCHERS
TITLE: SHADOWCATCHERS
GENRE: Upper MG Fantasy
Thirteen-year-old Zane’s job catching shadows for the palace is the only thing keeping him out of the slums where he was raised. But when he discovers he’s actually stealing souls, he must choose between the job that keeps him fed, or quitting and becoming the Empress’s next target.
Zane slouched in the shade of a stall, casually eating a fig, while he waited for the man he was hunting to appear. The market was almost empty, except for a few slow-moving servants dragging their feet through the sand. Even under their headdresses, Zane could see the sweat beading on their foreheads and felt sorry for them. Sure, he was out here, too, but at least he got to hide in the shade.
A cloth merchant, dressed in a fine embroidered shirt, ducked out of his shop and hustled through the market. He stayed close to the stalls and out of the sun as he walked, but whether it was to keep cool or to protect his shadow, Zane didn't know. Either way, Zane would have to be careful.
Dropping the fig skin, he double-checked the sketch in his pocket. Same fair hair and beard, same crinkly eyes, same snaggle-toothed smile. Definitely his man.
Zane peeled himself off the wall and slipped across the sand toward his mark. Three scraggly chickens clucked out into his path, causing him to stumble slightly. Wretched birds! Sidestepping them, he checked to see if anyone had seen, but no one seemed to have noticed. The market was like a ghost town, just the way he liked it. Most Catchers worked when the market was crowded, and the shadows long, but he preferred the precision of getting up close.
GENRE: Upper MG Fantasy
Thirteen-year-old Zane’s job catching shadows for the palace is the only thing keeping him out of the slums where he was raised. But when he discovers he’s actually stealing souls, he must choose between the job that keeps him fed, or quitting and becoming the Empress’s next target.
Zane slouched in the shade of a stall, casually eating a fig, while he waited for the man he was hunting to appear. The market was almost empty, except for a few slow-moving servants dragging their feet through the sand. Even under their headdresses, Zane could see the sweat beading on their foreheads and felt sorry for them. Sure, he was out here, too, but at least he got to hide in the shade.
A cloth merchant, dressed in a fine embroidered shirt, ducked out of his shop and hustled through the market. He stayed close to the stalls and out of the sun as he walked, but whether it was to keep cool or to protect his shadow, Zane didn't know. Either way, Zane would have to be careful.
Dropping the fig skin, he double-checked the sketch in his pocket. Same fair hair and beard, same crinkly eyes, same snaggle-toothed smile. Definitely his man.
Zane peeled himself off the wall and slipped across the sand toward his mark. Three scraggly chickens clucked out into his path, causing him to stumble slightly. Wretched birds! Sidestepping them, he checked to see if anyone had seen, but no one seemed to have noticed. The market was like a ghost town, just the way he liked it. Most Catchers worked when the market was crowded, and the shadows long, but he preferred the precision of getting up close.
(44) MG Contemporary Fantasy: APPRENTICE
TITLE: APPRENTICE
GENRE: MG Contemporary Fantasy
A thirteen-year-old amnesiac and a cockroach have five days to stop Death from triggering the apocalypse.
Death never told me how I died. He just pointed with a bony finger and said, “Come.”
I had to obey. I couldn’t think about not obeying.
The jerk didn’t even tell me I was dead until after he threatened to kill me twice.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I should start earlier–maybe that first morning, when I was normal. At least, I thought I was.
***
Mom slid her briefcase onto the kitchen counter then poured a coffee. She stared at the mess on top of my head. “Did you brush your hair?”
I mumbled through a mouthful of cereal. “Yeah.”
She knew brushing never made a difference. The only time it ever stayed in place was when it was short. And I wasn’t a crew-cut kind of guy.
“Well brush it again.”
I rolled my eyes and slouched.
Mom whacked my head. “And cut the attitude.”
She didn’t hurt me or anything. It was just part of what most mornings were like. I bugged her. She bugged me. We got along okay, but she was always ‘helping’ me. Helping me dress neater. Helping me study harder. Helping me practice more. I told her it wasn’t really helping if I didn’t want it, but that never stopped her.
Mom sipped her coffee before asking, “Are you going to the dance on Friday?”
I almost choked on my juice. “How do you know about that?”
“You left the form in your pants. I do wash things occasionally.”
GENRE: MG Contemporary Fantasy
A thirteen-year-old amnesiac and a cockroach have five days to stop Death from triggering the apocalypse.
Death never told me how I died. He just pointed with a bony finger and said, “Come.”
I had to obey. I couldn’t think about not obeying.
The jerk didn’t even tell me I was dead until after he threatened to kill me twice.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I should start earlier–maybe that first morning, when I was normal. At least, I thought I was.
***
Mom slid her briefcase onto the kitchen counter then poured a coffee. She stared at the mess on top of my head. “Did you brush your hair?”
I mumbled through a mouthful of cereal. “Yeah.”
She knew brushing never made a difference. The only time it ever stayed in place was when it was short. And I wasn’t a crew-cut kind of guy.
“Well brush it again.”
I rolled my eyes and slouched.
Mom whacked my head. “And cut the attitude.”
She didn’t hurt me or anything. It was just part of what most mornings were like. I bugged her. She bugged me. We got along okay, but she was always ‘helping’ me. Helping me dress neater. Helping me study harder. Helping me practice more. I told her it wasn’t really helping if I didn’t want it, but that never stopped her.
Mom sipped her coffee before asking, “Are you going to the dance on Friday?”
I almost choked on my juice. “How do you know about that?”
“You left the form in your pants. I do wash things occasionally.”
(43) YA Magical Realism: CHICK MAGNET
TITLE: CHICK MAGNET
GENRE: YA Magical Realism
JD Marshall has a power most guys would trade their left nut for. With one hypnotizing look, he can get a girl to do whatever he wants. But his power’s really a curse a witch put on him, one he’s got four months to break or lose any chance of ever having a real relationship. Unfortunately, the probable curse-breaker happens to be his hot new English teacher.
Getting with Susan Milton should be the last thing on my mind.
I should be thinking about Northeast and their defensive line, the one that racks up eight QB sacks a game. I should be running through Coach’s five new plays—the ones the Panthers won’t see on the scouting tapes. I should think about how David and I are going to get a keg for the beach after the game. Or how if I don’t play the game of my life, we won’t even need one.
Maybe I should focus on my senior project.
Or the Pre-Calc test I have in thirty minutes.
But I just can’t get my mind off her.
Ever since she walked into English on the first day of school, I haven’t been able to focus on much else. And not just because Susan Milton’s the hottest chick I’ve ever seen. I mean, she is: tight little body, sexy smile, shiny blond hair that smells like the flowers growing in my backyard. She has a habit of wearing these low cut tops, and if she bends over just right, I almost get a free show. And God, her voice. The way she recites poetry, it’s like she’s singing—just to me. I used to hate English. Now I hate the wait until third period for my new favorite class.
But Susan Milton is forbidden. Off limits. I can’t have her.
And unfortunately I can get practically anybody.
GENRE: YA Magical Realism
JD Marshall has a power most guys would trade their left nut for. With one hypnotizing look, he can get a girl to do whatever he wants. But his power’s really a curse a witch put on him, one he’s got four months to break or lose any chance of ever having a real relationship. Unfortunately, the probable curse-breaker happens to be his hot new English teacher.
Getting with Susan Milton should be the last thing on my mind.
I should be thinking about Northeast and their defensive line, the one that racks up eight QB sacks a game. I should be running through Coach’s five new plays—the ones the Panthers won’t see on the scouting tapes. I should think about how David and I are going to get a keg for the beach after the game. Or how if I don’t play the game of my life, we won’t even need one.
Maybe I should focus on my senior project.
Or the Pre-Calc test I have in thirty minutes.
But I just can’t get my mind off her.
Ever since she walked into English on the first day of school, I haven’t been able to focus on much else. And not just because Susan Milton’s the hottest chick I’ve ever seen. I mean, she is: tight little body, sexy smile, shiny blond hair that smells like the flowers growing in my backyard. She has a habit of wearing these low cut tops, and if she bends over just right, I almost get a free show. And God, her voice. The way she recites poetry, it’s like she’s singing—just to me. I used to hate English. Now I hate the wait until third period for my new favorite class.
But Susan Milton is forbidden. Off limits. I can’t have her.
And unfortunately I can get practically anybody.
(42) YA Fantasy: THE DRAGON'S PEARL
TITLE: The Dragon's Pearl
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Fourteen-year-old Misha has always lived in the shadow of her mother, the most powerful mage in South Korea. When she accidentally frees a dragon from his magical slumber, Misha must track him down, now masquerading as a human in the underbelly of Seoul before he wrecks vengeance on the person who sealed him away in the first place: her own mother.
“I have time for one story,” her mother said. She was dressed in an eel-black suit, her phone in her pocket ready to vibrate and whisk her away at a moment’s notice. “Two, if my secretary drove off the bridge and hasn’t called yet.”
“Nothing about waterfalls,” Misha said, feeling toasty under a blanket of goose feathers. She’d hate to go to the bathroom now. “No tidal waves, either.”
“Sure,” her mother said. Then she proceeded to pick the one picture book with the ocean on the cover. Misha only forgave her because it was The Blind Man’s Daughter, her favorite. Her aunt had read it to her many times.
“Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved her blind father very much.” Her mother paused. “She would have done anything in the world for him.”
Every story came with a bad guy and in this folktale, it was the Dragon King, causing trouble for merchants who wanted to sail to China. He thrashed his golden scaly body under the ocean, sinking ship after ship. It was an epic tantrum.
“So he’s like that dragon in the news,” Misha said, eager to show off. Most grownups thought she was too young to understand her mother’s job, but they didn’t know about the encyclopedias she’d read, the Time feature on her mother she’d cut out. “Your nemesis.”
“Do you even know what that word means?” her mother said, with a wry smile.
“It means someone you have to stop.”
GENRE: YA Fantasy
Fourteen-year-old Misha has always lived in the shadow of her mother, the most powerful mage in South Korea. When she accidentally frees a dragon from his magical slumber, Misha must track him down, now masquerading as a human in the underbelly of Seoul before he wrecks vengeance on the person who sealed him away in the first place: her own mother.
“I have time for one story,” her mother said. She was dressed in an eel-black suit, her phone in her pocket ready to vibrate and whisk her away at a moment’s notice. “Two, if my secretary drove off the bridge and hasn’t called yet.”
“Nothing about waterfalls,” Misha said, feeling toasty under a blanket of goose feathers. She’d hate to go to the bathroom now. “No tidal waves, either.”
“Sure,” her mother said. Then she proceeded to pick the one picture book with the ocean on the cover. Misha only forgave her because it was The Blind Man’s Daughter, her favorite. Her aunt had read it to her many times.
“Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved her blind father very much.” Her mother paused. “She would have done anything in the world for him.”
Every story came with a bad guy and in this folktale, it was the Dragon King, causing trouble for merchants who wanted to sail to China. He thrashed his golden scaly body under the ocean, sinking ship after ship. It was an epic tantrum.
“So he’s like that dragon in the news,” Misha said, eager to show off. Most grownups thought she was too young to understand her mother’s job, but they didn’t know about the encyclopedias she’d read, the Time feature on her mother she’d cut out. “Your nemesis.”
“Do you even know what that word means?” her mother said, with a wry smile.
“It means someone you have to stop.”
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